


Thou Shalt Not Lie

by cyankelpie



Series: Truth and Trust [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Almost-confession, Angst and Humor, Annoying Aziraphale, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Banter, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cold War, Crowley experiments with espionage, M/M, Misidentifying music genres as a coping mechanism, Pining, Quote: You go too fast for me Crowley (Good Omens), Rescue, They're in love but that doesn't mean they don't have boundaries, Truth Serum, it doesn't go well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24844978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyankelpie/pseuds/cyankelpie
Summary: Crowley's experiments with espionage land him in an awkward situation, but luckily Aziraphale shows up to help him out of it. Although, considering the amount of truth serum Crowley's been injected with and all the feelings they've never talked about, maybe it isn't lucky at all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Truth and Trust [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167536
Comments: 73
Kudos: 261
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Thou Shalt Not Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I actually did my research for this one and then decided I'd rather invent my own fictionalized "truth serum" instead. The drug Crowley is injected with isn't based on any real-life substance, but it sure is fun to write for two beings who are in love and refuse to talk about it!
> 
> Crowley being this affected by human drugs and unable to sober up might require a fair amount of suspension of disbelief, but I had fun, so.

Aziraphale was sitting down with his tea when a massive wave of demonic energy was released just outside the city. He jumped, spilling tea over the knees of his trousers, and winced in pain before miracling away the hot liquid as fast as he could. _Crowley,_ was his first thought, but it didn’t feel like Crowley, and he didn’t think Crowley was in the habit of using up that much energy at once. That meant there might be another demon loose in England, which meant trouble. Aziraphale hurriedly set aside his tea, spilling a bit more in the process, ran for the phone, and then realized that, if he called a cab, he might not get there in time to stop whatever was going on. Transporting himself across town was awfully draining, but he didn’t appear to have much of a choice right now. He weighed his options for a few more seconds, resigned himself with a sigh, and then shut his eyes and snapped his fingers.

He opened his eyes to find himself inside a dimly-lit concrete bunker. A summoning circle had been drawn on the floor in chalk, which would explain the demonic signal flare he had sensed. He winced at the three fleshless skeletons in clothes on the floor, and then noticed the chair, and the person tied to it. “Crowley?”

The demon’s eyes, which had been half-closed, fluttered open. “Aziraphale!” He smiled.

Aziraphale jumped a little. He didn’t often seen Crowley without his glasses on, and he definitely didn’t often see his bare eyes when he smiled, so he had never had a chance to get used to the effect it had on him.

“S’good to see you,” said Crowley. “I mean, s’always good t’ see you. You look great. Are you here to untie me?”

“Er—” Aziraphale blinked and looked around the scene one more time, in case he had missed some important clue that would help him piece this all together. When nothing presented itself, he turned back to Crowley and snapped his fingers to undo the ropes. “Are you alright?” he asked, as Crowley tugged his arms free and rubbed his wrists. “Why couldn’t you undo them yourself?”

“Course I can do them myself.” Crowley was blinking a lot more than usual, and seemed to have trouble keeping his balance, even sitting in the chair. “Jussst not at the moment. Dunno if you can tell, but I’m on a _lot_ of drugs right now. Whew. Whole lot.”

“Can’t you sober up?”

“Could’ve untied the ropes, then, couldn’t I?”

“Oh—Yes, of course.” Aziraphale helped him stand up, and he promptly fell back into the chair. Aziraphale frowned. He’d never used his powers to help another person sober up before, and he wasn’t sure what might happen if he did it wrong. “I suppose you ought to just…let it run its course, then.”

Crowley looked disappointed. “Hoped you could do something about it. Whatever it is they injected me with, I’m not a fan.” He grimaced and rubbed his temples. “Some kind of interrogation drug. Head doesn’t feel right at all, and I can’t seem to shut up.”

“Interrogation—Why?”

“They thought I was a Soviet spy.” Crowley shrugged. “Or maybe an American spy. I dunno, I’ve been playing a lot of sides, and I’m not sure which one they were on.”

“Who are you really working for, then?”

“Hell,” said Crowley, in an obvious tone. He glanced at the skeletons, wincing. “Funny, they asked me the same question.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You didn’t…Surely you didn’t _tell_ them?”

“Drugs, Aziraphale!” Crowley pointed at his head as if that was where the drugs were. “Told you, I can’t make myself shut up, or lie, apparently. They said ‘Who do you work for?’ and the next thing I knew I’d rattled off half the infernal chain of command.”

“Oh, Lord.” Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. Neither of them were supposed to reveal their true nature to humans. Their bosses were pretty strict on that policy nowadays. “So, what, you killed them?”

“Of course I didn’t,” said Crowley, looking at the skeletons. “I was tied up, and couldn’t use a miracle to save my life. And you know I hate killing,” he added. “I’m too soft for that, not that I’d ever admit it.” He cringed. “On purpose.”

Goodness, the drugs certainly had made Crowley candid. Aziraphale blinked and tried to pretend he hadn’t heard that last part. “Then what happened to them?”

“Well, they thought I was loony,” said Crowley. “They were gonna cart me off to the madhouse, and I didn’t wanna go. So I said, why the heaven d’you think my eyes look like this? And then, while they were thinking about that, I pulled out my wings and said, how d’you explain these?”

Aziraphale groaned and rubbed his eyes. This kept getting worse. “And then?”

“That convinced ‘em, which is good ‘cause I can’t do much else with my head all weird like this. Then one said, wait. He said, wouldn’t it be useful having a demon on our side? Said he doubted the other side had literal demons at their disposal, and then one of them said, nah, they’re all demons over there, and they had a laugh—”

“So what did they do?” Aziraphale glanced nervously at the chalk circle on the ground. “Did they ask you…”

“Asked how they could trap a demon,” said Crowley, embarrassed. “And, let me remind you, I’m on _so many drugs_ —”

“I’m aware,” said Aziraphale impatiently. “I’m not blaming you, just tell me what happened.”

“Well, I told them how to trap a demon.” He pointed at the chalk circle. “Not me, though. I had enough presence of mind not to sabotage myself this time. I do that a lot, though, don’t I? Like with—”

“What _happened?_ ” Aziraphale reminded him, trying to get him back on track.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Summoned Hastur.”

“Oh, dear.” That would certainly explain the ripple of demonic energy he had felt. A summoning like that would certainly send up a flare.

“He broke out of the circle pretty easily,” Crowely went on. “Their sigilwork was pretty sloppy, and I couldn’t see it from my chair well enough to correct it. First thing Hastur did was turn into maggots and eat those guys.” He nodded at the skeletons, wincing. “I didn’t tell him to do that. Then he turns back into his stinking human form and tries to blame the whole thing on me. Apparently I dragged him out of an important meeting with Beelz. So I ask if he can help out a pal who’s tied to a chair, except I said some other things about him too. You know I have some opinions about Hastur, except this time I was thinking out loud, and he didn’t appreciate some of the stuff I had to say…”

His voice got a little hoarse at the end, and he coughed and made a face. “Have you got any water? Just the regular kind is fine. Not the other kind, I’ve already got some of that. Don’t worry, m’not gonna ask you for any more.”

Aziraphale summoned an ordinary plastic water bottle and shoved it at him. Thankfully, Crowley stopped talking so he could drink it. “Is Hastur still around?” Aziraphale asked, desperate to stay on topic. “Where did he go?”

Crowley chugged half the water bottle before he came up for air. “Back to his meeting.” He looked at the water bottle for a second. “You, ah, you should probably go. Yep. Shouldn’t be here.” He swallowed. “Don’t want you to see me like this. I keep running my mouth. Who knows what I’ll say next.”

Crowley had turned pink, and wasn’t looking at Aziraphale. The angel swallowed. Crowley prided himself on being cool and collected, and having his filters stripped away like this must be humiliating. But he couldn’t just leave Crowley here, drugged and incapacitated in an unfamiliar place. After transporting himself here, he didn’t think he had enough energy left to miracle both himself and Crowley back to London, but he could still make sure Crowley made it back the regular way. “I’ll take you home,” he decided.

Crowley looked a little panicked. “Nuh, don’t think you heard me,” he said. “I mean, that’s nice, that’s really nice, but I just said I don’t want—”

“I understand you’re not in control of your faculties at the moment,” said Aziraphale. “Whatever you might say, I won’t judge you. We never have to talk about this again.”

Crowley looked at him for a moment, his eyes struggling to focus. “I dunno. You say that now, but. I already told you I can’t lie on this stuff. You can’t just pretend I didn’t mean it.”

Something hurt in Aziraphale’s chest. Crowely looked so embarrassed and vulnerable, and Aziraphale doubted he’d be ready to hear some of the things Crowley might have to say. It wouldn’t be right, either, for Crowley to say them now, when he had no say in the matter. This situation wasn’t fair to either of them. After a long moment, Aziraphale miracled up a pair of sunglasses and handed them to Crowley. “I’ll try to stop you if you start to say something you can’t take back. I promise.”

“Oh.” Crowley took the sunglasses and put them on. “Thanks, angel. Really. I didn’t even ask for these. You always know just what—”

“Shall we get out of here?” Aziraphale offered Crowley his hands to help him up.

Crowley pulled himself up with a grunt and almost toppled forward, but Aziraphale caught him and supported him, slinging the demon’s arm around his shoulders. They’d both done this dozens of times before, when one of them drank a little too much and then got pissy when the other suggested they sober up. Aziraphale had a little more practice at it than Crowley did. “Why don’t you tell me how you got here?” said Aziraphale, walking him slowly towards the door. If he kept Crowley talking about something innocuous, it might keep him from talking about other things. “It sounds as though you’ve been getting involved in espionage.”

“Heheh, yeah,” Crowley chuckled. His feet pedaled weakly against the floor as he leaned heavily against Aziraphale. “Thought it was a fantastic idea, ever since I saw that film. Have you seen any of them? Those spy flicks? I was gonna be like them. I was gonna be _James Bond,_ rushing headlong into danger and making daring escapes and all that.” He gestured back towards the chair with so much frustration that he nearly sent both of them tumbling over. “Instead I end up tied to a chair spilling my guts to a couple of random humans.”

“I’m sure even Mr. Bond had his off days.” Aziraphale opened the door and found a flight of stairs. Those might be tricky, with Crowley barely able to stand, but they would have to manage it. He started half-supporting, half-carrying Crowley up the stairs.

“Doubt it,” said Crowley. “He’s always so cool.”

“You’re plenty cool as well, my dear,” Aziraphale reassured him.

“Hah. No. M’a fucking disgrace.”

It was lucky Aziraphale didn’t drop him. “Crowley, you mustn’t say such things—”

“We’ve been over this, angel,” said Crowley, his voice rising to hide his shame. “I can’t help what I say right now. And now, yeah, I guess you know my thoughts on the matter. Not like it was much of a secret. You know me better’n’ anyone."

“Yes, and I know that it’s simply not true—”

“What’s not true? I’m terrible at being a demon, and I’m too much of a demon to be good for anything else. Put up a good front, but behind that I’m just a big mess. I started getting plants, you know, and I’m awful to them, really unjustifiably awful, and I know they don’t deserve it but I yell at them anyway, and what does that say about me—”

“You are _not_ a disgrace,” Aziraphale told him, dragging him up the last few stairs a little more firmly than was necessary. “I can’t imagine how anyone who’s ever met you would think so, unless they happened to be as dense and blind as yourself. I will not tolerate any more discussion on the matter.”

“I can’t help—”

“Then I won’t tolerate you thinking so any longer,” said Aziraphale stubbornly. “If I need to keep personally reminding you until you change your mind, then so be it.”

Crowley laughed humorlessly. “Sure. Let’s get you some of this stuff, see what you say then.”

Aziraphale turned bright red at the thought of some of the things he might say if he were in Crowley’s position. He was having enough trouble as it was keeping back the tide of complements that had surged up in his mind when he heard Crowley disparaging himself. He wanted to say something more reassuring, but how could he do that without revealing…Not that he had much to hide, not anymore, not since he’d risked everything to call off that church caper and keep Crowley safe…

“I—I imagine I might have a few things to say about Gabriel,” he said, focusing on controlling his voice. “And Michael, too, come to think of it.”

Crowley snickered. “Oh yeah? Go on.”

“ _If_ I had been injected with that stuff,” Aziraphale finished. “Which I haven’t.”

“Oh, come on. Call Michael something rude. Say, ‘Michael’s a wanker.’”

“Michael is an archangel of the Lord,” said Aziraphale, like he was reciting from a book. “And I will not disparage her.” He lowered his voice and added, “Aloud, while sober.”

Crowley let out a cackle. “You’re thinking it, though. I can hear you thinking it.”

“Maybe just a little.”

“Knew it!” Crowley’s triumphant voice echoed through the bunker.

“Shh,” Aziraphale whispered. He had spotted another door leading off the stairwell. “We don’t know if anyone else might be down here.”

“You were talking normally a second ago.”

“Yes, because I only just thought of it. Hush.”

“Oh, sure, tell me to shut up while I’m on not-shutting-up drugs.” The drugs hadn’t impaired Crowley’s sarcasm, at least. “That’ll help. It won’t actually help, that was a a joke.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “By all means, continue to voice your every thought aloud. I am just asking you to lower your voice a little.”

“Nyeh,” said Crowley, annoyed, but he said it a little more quietly. He drank a little more water, leaving a gap in the conversation.

They had almost reached the top of the stairs. Aziraphale paused momentarily to puff for breath. He wished they hadn’t taken Crowley quite so far underground.

“Those poor buggers downstairs,” said Crowley, his thoughts apparently starting to wander again. “I wish Hastur hadn’t done that. Guess I could’ve prevented it, though, if I’d just not gotten kidnapped. I didn’t realize espionage was so hard.”

“I could have told you that,” said Aziraphale, dragging him up the last few stairs. “My brief experiments with it didn’t go any better, if you’ll recall.”

“Oh, yeah, the thing with the Nazis.” Crowley chuckled. “Should’ve taken a warning from that. ‘Aziraphale can’t do this, Crowley, so you _definitely_ can’t do this.’ I must’ve looked a bloody idiot, hopping down the aisle like that.”

“It did look a little strange,” Aziraphale admitted.

“That church _hurt,_ did you know?” Crowley went on. “I mean, I never told you, didn’t want to worry you, but for days afterwards I could barely walk—”

“Goodness.” Aziraphale glanced at him, alarmed and a little ashamed. “I had no idea, Crowley, I’m dreadfully sorry—”

“Don’t be,” said Crowley. “My feet have recovered by now. Besides, was worth it.”

Aziraphale swallowed, his heart beating very fast. He wasn’t doing a very good job keeping Crowley away from difficult subjects. “Do you think you’ll be able to smooth things over with Hastur?” he said. “After everything you said to him, I mean. And pulling him out of that meeting.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” he said. “If Hastur wanted me fired for insubordination, he’d have done it himself. With actual fire. Plus, I’m the employee of the century down there after I told them I taught Stalin everything he knows.”

“Of course you did,” Aziraphale muttered. Still, he was glad to hear that Crowley wouldn’t be in trouble with his bosses. Or, at least, he wouldn’t be in more trouble than he could talk himself out of. He’d always been very good at that.

Finally, they were done with the stairs. Aziraphale snapped his fingers to open the heavy bunker door at the top, and had to mostly carry Crowley as he stepped through. He lowered Crowley onto the grass and snapped his fingers to create a bit of light. The bunker was built into a hillside in the middle of a forest. He was just about to ask if Crowley knew where they where when the demon spoke again.

“At least all I did was insult Hastur,” he said. “I’m lucky you didn’t come up in the conversation.”

Aziraphale tensed. “Yes, I’m—I’m sure you wouldn’t want him finding out about the Arrangement.”

“Arrangement? Sure, that too, but I meant ‘cause—”

“Because we haven’t been acting as enemies,” Aziraphale interrupted, his face warming again. “Yes, I quite agree.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Crowley was quiet for a second. “Nice save, Aziraphale. I almost just said—”

“Do you have any idea how to reach Mayfair from here?” Aziraphale raised his voice a little, forgetting his own advice to be quiet just minutes before.

To his relief, Crowley accepted the change of subject this time. It was hard to tell exactly where he was looking, but his sunglasses were pointed at the ground. “Dunno. I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is. They tranqed me in the park, and next thing I know I’m waking up here.”

“There must be a car around here somewhere,” said Aziraphale, frowning and looking around. “Wait here a moment, I’ll be back.”

He left the floating celestial light with Crowley and summoned a torch for himself instead. He walked about thirty feet into the trees, and then the torchlight glimmered off the headlights of a green SUV. Driving it would be another issue, but he could figure that out once Crowley and himself were inside. He turned to go get Crowley.

The demon appeared to be muttering to himself, and Aziraphale paused, frowning. “Bloody stupid git,” Crowley was saying. “I’m gonna say it, I know I am, I’m gonna muck everything up and he’ll never want to talk to me again—”

“I found the car,” said Aziraphale, desperate to interrupt his monologue. “Let’s—Shall we?”

He helped Crowley to his feet again, but the discovery of the car didn’t seem to be enough to distract him from his train of thought. “I’m sorry,” Crowley blurted out. “You really shouldn’t be here. Just leave me here till this stuff wears off, I’ll probably be fine—”

“I’ll do no such thing,” said Aziraphale. “I’ve already told you I won’t hold anything you say tonight against you. I doubt there is anything you might say that I don’t already know.”

“You shouldn’t have to hear it, though.” Crowley was talking quickly and frantically now. He pushed his sunglasses closer to his face. “It’s too fast, I know that. And I’m trying, you know? Your pace. S’fine. Slow as you want. Not at all, if you want. Only I can’t fucking help it right now, and I’ll—”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale stopped walking. It came as no surprise that Crowley was still thinking about what he’d said when he handed him the thermos, and he really shouldn’t have been surprised that Crowley was trying so hard to respect his boundaries. What amazed him was the fact that, when Crowley was in a state that forced him to be painfully sincere and open, he didn’t blame Aziraphale for it at all. ~~~~

“—And when I do fuck up,” Crowley was saying, “‘cause I know I will, if not tonight, then some other time, I’ll go too fast or I’ll say the wrong thing, I’ll make you uncomfortable and you’ll leave.”

“I won’t—”

“S’what always happens.”

“Always—” Aziraphale reflected on his past behavior for a moment, and shame washed over him. “Oh.”

“And I don’t need you around all the time, but what do I do when you stop coming back?” Crowley went on. “I always wonder if it’s the last time. Fuck, no, I didn’t mean to say that, I don’t want to guilt you about this, I—”

“ _Crowley._ ” Aziraphale’s voice was choked as he pulled Crowley into a hug. His arms shook a little. Crowley was right, this was too fast and he wasn’t ready, but Crowley needed him to do _something_ right now to show he was willing to try. “I’ll always come back,” he said. “And I doubt very much whether there is anything you can say to change that.”

Crowley’s arms twitched as if he wanted to return the hug. Aziraphale wished he would. He didn’t. “I mphhgh,” he said.

Aziraphale let go and held Crowley by the shoulders. The demon was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. “You’re hurting yourself,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley let go long enough to say, “For Satan’s sake, Aziraphale, change the subject.”

“Oh—Yes—” He cleared his throat. There was more that he could say, and that he probably should say, but he didn’t think he’d be able to get the words out, and anyway this was not a conversation to have when one of them was not of sound mind. “A—a distraction,” he stuttered, slinging Crowley’s arm over his shoulders again and walking him towards the car. “You may need to teach me how to drive.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up over the sunglasses. “Well, that’ll be a fucking disaster.”

Unexpectedly, Aziraphale laughed. “Tell me what you really think.”

“You’re gonna crawl along at a snail’s pace, aren’t you? It’ll take _days._ ”

“At least we’ll get there in one piece, with me driving.”

“I always get us there in one piece!” Crowley protested. “I’ve never so much as bumped anything with the Bentley in, what, fifty-odd years? And you know that’s true because I can’t lie right now. I want that on the record. Write that down.”

“Very well, then. Let the record show that, through a rather astounding series of miracles—”

“Hey.”

“—the demon known as Crowley has not hit anything while driving. _Yet._ ”

“Hey!”

“Well, you drive as though your life depends on you arriving five minutes ago!” Aziraphale sighed impatiently. “Would it kill you to simply slow down—”

Crowley tensed, and Aziraphale’s smile evaporated. Speed was not a good topic of conversation right now. His eyes darted around for something else to talk about, but there were only trees and the car. The last thing he wanted was for Crowley to start saying those horrible things about himself again.

“Aziraph—”

“Look, here we are at the car,” Aziraphale interrupted, opening the passenger-side door. “In you go.”

Crowley flopped inside and rearranged himself onto the seat, waving away Aziraphale’s help with an irritated, “M’fine.” Aziraphale shut the door after him, drew a deep breath, and walked around to the other side of the car.

He opened the door on the driver’s side and opened his mouth to ask Crowley for driving instructions, but Crowley spoke first. “We never do this.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Break out of an underground bunker and drive away in a stolen car? No, I should hope not.”

“No, I mean. We never…talk about this.”

Aziraphale climbed inside and shut the door after himself without looking at Crowley. He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“You never talk about this,” Crowley clarified. “Y’don’t say stuff like that, y’don’t—You hugged me back there. You don’t do that.”

Aziraphale’s throat was tight. Of course not. He had never been the friend that Crowley deserved. “It…it hardly seemed fair for only one of us to be sharing,” he said, hoping his voice sounded normal.

Crowley looked down at the glove compartment. “Shouldn’t do it for me,” he said. “I don’t want you to do it for me. Want you to do it ‘cause you want to.”

Aziraphale blinked away something that definitely wasn’t a tear. He did want very much to tell Crowley exactly how much he valued him and hold him until he stopped thinking so poorly of himself. More than that, he wanted to be able to do it without worrying about Falling, or being punished, or having a panic attack. He couldn’t do that in the long term, no matter how much he or Crowley might want it. He hoped would get away with what he’d already done, just this once.

“Not worth talking about, really,” said Crowley. “I know why. I get it. Not your fault.”

“It’s not you.”

Crowley glanced at him in surprise. Aziraphale looked down at the steering wheel and drew a breath. He hadn’t entirely intended to speak, but he couldn’t exactly leave it at that. “I…phrased it very poorly back then, I think,” he said quietly. “It’s never been you.”

Crowley must have been surprised, because for a moment he didn’t say anything. “Ngh. You…mean that?”

Aziraphale swallowed. He had put Crowley through far too much. “I…I could go back and find some of that truth serum for myself. Would you believe me then?”

“Oh, God, no, don’t do that. I’d never ask you to do that. One of us’s bad enough.” Crowley cleared his throat, and the next time he spoke it was so quietly that Aziraphale thought he might be talking to himself. “Thanks. S’good to hear.”

There was something lodged in Aziraphale’s throat, which he tried very hard to swallow. “S-so this car,” he said. “I need keys to start it, yes? Where do humans usually stash their keys?”

“Oh, for—” Crowley threw up a hand. “You’re an _angel,_ angel. You don’t need _keys._ ”

“Oh!” Aziraphale forced a chuckle and started the car with a miracle. “Quite right.”

“Honestly, why do I even talk to you?” Crowley asked, and then started to answer. “Well, probably ‘cause—”

“And—and so, which one of these pedals is the brake?” Aziraphale pushed one of them with his foot, and the car made a very loud noise. He jumped.

Crowley looked at him dryly. “I don’t think that was the brake.”

“Shouldn’t the car have moved, though, if that was the accelerator?”

“Sure, if it was in gear,” said Crowley. “You know what, why don’t you just miracle that, too, so I don’t have to teach you how to use the clutch.”

Aziraphale looked around under the dashboard. “What gears are you referring to?”

“You can’t see them, obviously, they’re…in the engine, or something, I’m not actually sure…”

Fortunately, Aziraphale’s attempt to learn to drive distracted them from what they had been talking about before. Crowley still offered up the occasional unexpected complement towards Aziraphale or disparaging remark about himself, after which he would cringe and look away, and Aziraphale would pretend he hadn’t heard. They finally got the car moving down the bumpy dirt trail from which it had come, and Crowley switched on the radio.

“Do turn that off, my dear,” said Aziraphale. “I’m trying to focus.” He was trying very hard. His shoulders were tense and his forehead was drawn. The car moved at roughly the speed of a very relaxed dog.

“C’mon, it’ll do you some good to get with the times,” said Crowley. “You’re so adorably old-fashioned. _Stubbornly._ Fuck, I can’t even make fun of you anymore.”

“You had no trouble earlier when you were speculating about my driving ability,” said Aziraphale, blushing a little and wondering how on Earth Crowley could find that aspect of his personality appealing. With one hand, Aziraphale released his death grip on the wheel so he could switch off the radio. “I have no interest in listening to your ragtime, Crowley—”

“ _Ragtime?_ ”

“Perhaps if we could find a classical channel, I’d be willing to keep it on, only I’m not sure how to work this doodad.”

Crowley folded his arms and groaned impatiently. “You can speed up a _little,_ Aziraphale. The car, I mean, speed up the car. No double meanings. If there was, I’d be telling you all about them, probably. Augh.”

Aziraphale stopped the car briefly to turn the radio back on. A distraction would probably do them good. “Do you know this band?”

Crowley looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “You asking me to educate you about ‘ragtime’? Or rock, which is what this actually is, and I’m pretty sure you know that.”

Aziraphale sighed. He was probably going to regret this. “I suppose I am.” He gestured at the radio, which was playing a confusing jangle of sounds he didn’t know how to classify “Please, tell me about this…this ‘rock and roll.’”

Crowley reached over and turned up the radio. “Okay, first off, nobody’s called it ‘rock and roll’ in about ten years.”

In the middle of the mess of electronic instruments, somebody was singing (or maybe shrieking), _It’s been a long time since I rock and rolled._ Aziraphale glanced over dryly.

Crowley glared back. “That doesn’t count. That’s an intentional throwback, for nostalgia.”

“Perhaps I meant it as a ‘throwback,’ as well.”

“Your whole wardrobe’s a throwback, but nobody’s nostalgic for the eighteen hundreds, Aziraphale,” Crowley shot back.

Aziraphale glanced down at himself. “I bought this waistcoat in 1908.”

“Only about sixty-five years out of date then,” said Crowley. “My mistake. When’d you get so behind the times, angel? You used to buy Dickens’ novels the same week they came out in print. You saw Beethoven in concert before the critics had made up their minds about him.”

“That was Beethoven.” Aziraphale gestured distastefully at the mess that was coming out of the speakers. “This is…”

“Led Zeppelin,” Crowley supplied, exasperated. “And they’re masters in their own genre.”

“You mean to tell me this is the _good_ rock and roll?”

“Wh—Yes!” Crowley jabbed a finger at the radio. “Try actually listening for a minute and try to tell me this isn’t good music.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and sped up the car a little as the dirt path came out onto a smoother, paved road. “The quicker we reach your flat, the less I have to listen to this noise.”

Crowley folded his arms and scowled. “You’re obtuse. Anyone ever tell you that? I’m telling you that now, and you know I really think so ‘cause I’ve had liquid honesty injected straight into my veins. You wanna know my innermost thoughts? S’that you’re _obtuse._ ”

“How illuminating,” Aziraphale murmured. “And to think you’ve kept it a secret all this time.”

“You’ve no idea how hard I’m trying to insult you right now,” Crowley added. “‘Course you’re ridiculous, I don’t have to lie about that, but it’s part of why I l—Why I like you—” He drew a shuddering breath and seemed to grow smaller in his seat. “Caught myself that time, little bit. Not—not enough, don’t think. Oh, didn’t mean to say all that out loud.”

Aziraphale poked at some of the buttons on the radio with forced calm. “Oh, what’s this?” he asked, when the song changed. “Doo-wop, I believe.”

“ _Disco,_ Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaimed, scrabbling around in the seat and throwing up his arms to properly express how far at the end of his rope he was. “Forget what I said, I don’t like you at all. I do, a lot, but I _don’t._ ”

“I thought I was obtuse.”

“You are _._ ”

Aziraphale glanced at him smugly. “So you like that about me, then?”

“I _do!_ ” said Crowley, exasperated. “You’re trying to wind me up, don’t think I don’t know that. I know you know this isn’t _doo-wop._ ”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Aziraphale innocently. “Is it working?”

“‘Course it’s working.” Crowley scowled. “It always works.”

The radio was an imperfect distraction, but at least Aziraphale’s absurd commentary on the music distracted Crowley from most of what he’d been thinking about outside the bunker. Aziraphale managed to gather the general location of London proper from a few signs they passed, and before long, though it felt much longer, they reentered the city. Crowley became less and less talkative as they drove, until at one point he scrunched up his face in concentration, opened his eyes, and then faced away from Aziraphale and curled into himself in a sea-urchin tangle of pointy limbs. Aziraphale took the hint and stopped talking to him, except to ask for directions as they neared Mayfair.

“Right,” he said, when Aziraphale stopped in front of his building. With a deep breath, he untangled all his limbs and opened the door. He wasn’t looking at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale couldn’t blame him. “Er…thanks. For, you know.”

“Crowley, um—” Aziraphale paused. He had stayed with Crowley tonight, even though some very difficult things were said, but it would have been so easy to make excuses and take some time apart to recover a little. It would have, if he didn’t know that was exactly what Crowley was afraid of. Aziraphale should be a better friend than that, for once.

But if it had been hard before, it was impossible now. They didn’t talk about it. They never had, until suddenly Crowley hadn’t had a choice. Now that was over, and they were back to their usual language of meaningful gestures and hidden meanings and the occasional glance or tone of voice. Plus, Aziraphale had promised Crowley that they wouldn’t ever have to talk about anything he’d said tonight. But he couldn’t just let Crowley go on thinking that Aziraphale might someday disappear forever.

Crowley was tense, still not looking at him. He had one foot on the pavement and one hand on the open car door, his back hunched to duck out. He waited for whatever Aziraphale was going to say.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Would…would you like to have lunch sometime this week, perhaps?” he said. “Or next week. I’m not busy.” He thought a moment and said, more truthfully, “I…can make time in my schedule.”

Crowley glanced up. Aziraphale wasn’t looking straight at him, so he couldn’t tell exactly what his reaction was, though the sunglasses would have been hiding most of it anyway. He hoped Crowley got the message.

“Sssure,” Crowley hissed. “If you want, I guess.”

“That’s why I asked you, Crowley.”

“Maybe, uh. Maybe in a bit?”

Aziraphale nodded. It would be understandable if Crowley felt too vulnerable to see him for a few days. “Just—just ring the shop. I’ll be around.” _I’m not going anywhere._

Crowley was quiet for a moment, like he was thinking about something, or trying to figure something out. Then he nodded and said, “Right. G’night, Aziraphale.”

“Take care.”

Crowley stepped out and shut the door. Aziraphale watched him walk up to the door and pull out his keys. At the door, he glanced back, and seemed surprised to see the car still there. He tilted his head with a half-smile, as if to say, _what are you doing?_ Aziraphale gave a little wave. Crowley made a shooing gesture, unlocked the door, and went inside.

As the door shut behind him, Aziraphale exhaled. He sat there a moment while something that definitely wasn’t ragtime played over the radio, and then struggled with the clutch to get the car moving again and chugged away toward Soho. That hadn’t been easy on either of them, but they were okay. They were going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


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